Still not sure who I like in this game. But the majority of peeps I know are pulling for the Cards.

One thing playing into the favor of the Cardinals, is that Whisenhunt knows all of Ben's weakness. That could play well for the AZ D. Doubt it will play as big a role as Gruden did vs the Raiders. Pitt is not run by a senile old man and a retarded coach who didn't change the audibles.

It works this way: A man with a microphone, backed by a camera, shouts to a player to talk about something. Can you talk about the role of God in your life? Have anything to say to guys on The Best Damn Sports Show? Sometimes, players answer. Other times, shout-outs bomb.

They worked Tuesday for Marine Sgt. Jeremy Ross. He wore spotless black shoes, blue pants, a starched khaki shirt and a white cap. For two hours, he asked Steelers and Cardinals if they'd like to say hello to U.S. troops in Iraq and Afghanistan. Their messages would be shown over there during the telecast of Super Bowl XLIII.

"The response has been great," said Sgt. Cross, 24, a military journalist working for the Pentagon Channel. "These guys know what our soldiers are doing over there."

The Arizona Cardinals franchise knows better than most.

Sgt. Cross stood out in the media day crush.

John Omohundro saw him.

"Of course, you think about Tilly," he said.

Tilly's here. They're sure of it.

"He's here somewhere," Omohundro said.

He has been with the Arizona Cardinals for 42 years, long before they came to the desert. He was the team's head trainer for 36 years before stepping down last June to become their senior advisor to sports medicine. And in all that time, through all the losing, and suddenly the winning, Omohundro has never met anyone like Patrick Daniel Tillman.

Pat Tillman died on the side of a Afghanistan mountain nearly five years ago, cut down by friendly fire, lost in a war he choose to fight for a country he chose to defend. He gave up football, fame and money. Now the Cardinals, losers even on Tillman's watch, are at their first Super Bowl. He's here, too, they insist.

Leading By Example

His name is Adrian Wilson and he's the longest tenured Cardinal on the roster. He plays strong safety, like Pat Tillman before him. Wilson's rookie season was Tillman's last in the NFL.

"When I came here in 2001, I think it was Pat's last year," Wilson said. "Pat helped me learn the playbook, he helped me learn how to practice and learn a lot of things I didn't know. Pat showed me the way. Pat eventually knew I was going to be the guy who took over his spot. And he didn't have any problems with that. He showed me the right way to do things."

He showed us all.

Wilson had a chance to leave Arizona after the 2004 season. The Cardinals hadn't had a winning season since 1998. But Wilson stayed for less money than he could have earned somewhere else. Sound familiar?

"I think everybody, not only the players, but the fans of Arizona, the people of Arizona, really wonder what it would have been like if Pat was still here," Wilson said.

John Omohundro stood on the field at Raymond James Stadium. It was media day, and he struck up a casual conversation with a reporter. It turned into an interview. He had a story to tell.

It was about Tilly.

"He's everything you would look for in a player," Omohundro said. "He was tough, he was dedicated. He was a guy a lot of people said wasn't able to do some things. Pat would take it as a personal challenge and go do it.

"He was funny. He was off the beaten path. He was a little different kind of guy. When he was in college, he wanted to get away from everything, he ended up climbing a light pole and reading a book up there."

Cardinals general manager Rod Graves joined the team in 1997, the year before Tillman was drafted in the seventh round.

"I remember when we'd come in after pregame warm-ups, and Pat would be so intense," Graves said. "He'd be screaming 'Let's get ready, let's get ready to go, get your mind right.' You were literally afraid of the guy ... Once he made up his mind to do something, he'd follow through. It didn't matter if it was the Cardinals or his country."

Sean Morey is a Cardinals receiver and special-teams star. This is his eighth NFL season, his second in Arizona. Morey attended Brown University. One of his college teammates was from Arizona and was close to Tillman and his friends. Morey joined them for a trip to the 1997 Rose Bowl to see Tillman and Arizona State. They drove from Arizona to Pasadena, Calif., hour after hour of Pat Tillman stories. A different kind of cat. Nothing could stop the guy. He was ferocious. It put the hooks in Morey.

"The guy was a legend, a bear," Morey said Wednesday. "I never got to meet him. But I admire him. Nothing could stop him. He went his own way, and wherever he went, he went with everything he had. I think about him and what he did, going in the Army, making that choice. Even at the Super Bowl, it still kind of towers over you."

Omohundro remembers being in the Cardinals training room not long after after the Sept. 11 attacks. Pat Tillman came in, sat down and just let it out.

"You know, I haven't done a damn thing," Tillman said.

He quit football, quit the promise of a big new contract from the Cardinals, the only NFL team he ever played for or wanted to play for. At one point, he could have left for more money, he could have gone to the St. Louis Rams. He stayed. It was loyalty to a seemingly hapless franchise. The Cardinals were always losing, but Pat Tillman always figured they were worth the fight. But now he had to go.

He joined the U.S. Army in May 2002, along with his brother.

"He never did think he was giving up anything," Omohundro said. "He felt this was part of his destiny."

He said, "When you've worked with a person, when you know his qualities of dedication, leadership and toughness â€¦ I know in my heart Pat and his brother Kevin thought they were going to go over there and get (Osama) bin Laden. I really think they thought that. Pat just felt there was no barrier too big."

"That's Pat," Graves said. "He would have clipped bin Laden on his belt and brought him back."

Lingering Legacy

They remember Tillman at Arizona State, an undersized linebacker turned holy terror. The man was fearless, long hair flying out the back of his helmet. Omohundro remembered Cardinals games when Tillman would come off hurt and disappear into the tunnel. An assistant trainer would go look for him, and Tillman would wave him off, tell him to stay back. I can reject this pain. I can walk it off. Just don't interrupt.

"It would have taken an elephant gun to drop him," Omohundro said.

He remembered the last time he saw Tilly. The Cardinals were playing in Seattle. Tillman was stationed nearby. He'd soon be on his way overseas as an elite U.S. Army Ranger, one of the sharper edges in all the branches.

"I told him I was very proud of him and boy, did we miss him," Omohundro said. "I remember the last thing he said. Pat told us, 'I'll be back. I'll be back.' I never doubted him for a second."

He was driving to the office that May morning in 2002 when it came on the radio that Tillman was reported dead. At the Cardinals' complex, players and coaches and receptionists, everyone, cried like babies.

"Jake Plummer was his closest friend," Omuhundro said, "When Pat died, a piece of Jake died with him."

It's still incredible when you think of what Pat Tillman walked away from and what he walked into. He didn't think he was special. He didn't do interviews as he marched off. It was never about that. The circumstances of his death were hidden by the military, even by his own soldiers. It was a shameful thing. But it doesn't change what the man did, and never will.

"I get goose bumps thinking about it," Sean Morey said.

There's a statue of Tillman and a memorial plaza at the Cardinals stadium. Tillman's No. 40 is retired, though his jersey remains one of the top sellers for Cardinals fans. There's a foundation in his name and scholarships. His high school in San Jose, Calif., named its football field for him. There's a base near Afghanistan's border with Pakistan - Forward Operating Base Tillman.

Sean Morey is only 5 feet, 11 inches tall. He didn't have a pass reception this season. He has only 11 catches his NFL career. He has played for four different teams. In 2001, after 9/11, while Pat Tillman was thinking about leaving the game, Morey couldn't find a football job, so he worked as a furniture mover.

He found his home on special teams, becoming a guided missile. He was named a Pro Bowl alternate in 2005 for the Pittsburgh Steelers, who the Cardinals meet Sunday in Super Bowl XLIII. Morey made the Pro Bowl this season. He comes down and roars into blockers and finds the ball. Nothing stops him. He's a bear.

"Every time we line up for the national anthem and put our hands on our chest, we look up and across the field there's that No. 40 on a stadium wall," Morey said.

Rod Graves has a pretty good idea.

"Pat would be all over a week like this. He would be at the front, even if he was no longer in the league. He'd be in the locker room giving pregame speeches. He loved the Cardinals. He'd be making sure every one of us was ready to go."

Tuesday morning, Marine Sgt. Jeremy Ross stood near a riser at Raymond James Stadium, shouting at another Cardinal to say hello to the troops. John Omohondro was talking about Tilly again.

"I put a big picture of Pat in the training room. It's right above the taping tables. Every day, these players see him."

Omohundro held up a wrist. He still wears a red hope bracelet for Pat, as he does every day, including Super Bowl Sunday. The words are simple.

It works this way: A man with a microphone, backed by a camera, shouts to a player to talk about something. Can you talk about the role of God in your life? Have anything to say to guys on The Best Damn Sports Show? Sometimes, players answer. Other times, shout-outs bomb.

They worked Tuesday for Marine Sgt. Jeremy Ross. He wore spotless black shoes, blue pants, a starched khaki shirt and a white cap. For two hours, he asked Steelers and Cardinals if they'd like to say hello to U.S. troops in Iraq and Afghanistan. Their messages would be shown over there during the telecast of Super Bowl XLIII.

"The response has been great," said Sgt. Cross, 24, a military journalist working for the Pentagon Channel. "These guys know what our soldiers are doing over there."

The Arizona Cardinals franchise knows better than most.

Sgt. Cross stood out in the media day crush.

John Omohundro saw him.

"Of course, you think about Tilly," he said.

Tilly's here. They're sure of it.

"He's here somewhere," Omohundro said.

He has been with the Arizona Cardinals for 42 years, long before they came to the desert. He was the team's head trainer for 36 years before stepping down last June to become their senior advisor to sports medicine. And in all that time, through all the losing, and suddenly the winning, Omohundro has never met anyone like Patrick Daniel Tillman.

Pat Tillman died on the side of a Afghanistan mountain nearly five years ago, cut down by friendly fire, lost in a war he choose to fight for a country he chose to defend. He gave up football, fame and money. Now the Cardinals, losers even on Tillman's watch, are at their first Super Bowl. He's here, too, they insist.

Leading By Example

His name is Adrian Wilson and he's the longest tenured Cardinal on the roster. He plays strong safety, like Pat Tillman before him. Wilson's rookie season was Tillman's last in the NFL.

"When I came here in 2001, I think it was Pat's last year," Wilson said. "Pat helped me learn the playbook, he helped me learn how to practice and learn a lot of things I didn't know. Pat showed me the way. Pat eventually knew I was going to be the guy who took over his spot. And he didn't have any problems with that. He showed me the right way to do things."

He showed us all.

Wilson had a chance to leave Arizona after the 2004 season. The Cardinals hadn't had a winning season since 1998. But Wilson stayed for less money than he could have earned somewhere else. Sound familiar?

"I think everybody, not only the players, but the fans of Arizona, the people of Arizona, really wonder what it would have been like if Pat was still here," Wilson said.

John Omohundro stood on the field at Raymond James Stadium. It was media day, and he struck up a casual conversation with a reporter. It turned into an interview. He had a story to tell.

It was about Tilly.

"He's everything you would look for in a player," Omohundro said. "He was tough, he was dedicated. He was a guy a lot of people said wasn't able to do some things. Pat would take it as a personal challenge and go do it.

"He was funny. He was off the beaten path. He was a little different kind of guy. When he was in college, he wanted to get away from everything, he ended up climbing a light pole and reading a book up there."

Cardinals general manager Rod Graves joined the team in 1997, the year before Tillman was drafted in the seventh round.

"I remember when we'd come in after pregame warm-ups, and Pat would be so intense," Graves said. "He'd be screaming 'Let's get ready, let's get ready to go, get your mind right.' You were literally afraid of the guy ... Once he made up his mind to do something, he'd follow through. It didn't matter if it was the Cardinals or his country."

Sean Morey is a Cardinals receiver and special-teams star. This is his eighth NFL season, his second in Arizona. Morey attended Brown University. One of his college teammates was from Arizona and was close to Tillman and his friends. Morey joined them for a trip to the 1997 Rose Bowl to see Tillman and Arizona State. They drove from Arizona to Pasadena, Calif., hour after hour of Pat Tillman stories. A different kind of cat. Nothing could stop the guy. He was ferocious. It put the hooks in Morey.

"The guy was a legend, a bear," Morey said Wednesday. "I never got to meet him. But I admire him. Nothing could stop him. He went his own way, and wherever he went, he went with everything he had. I think about him and what he did, going in the Army, making that choice. Even at the Super Bowl, it still kind of towers over you."

Omohundro remembers being in the Cardinals training room not long after after the Sept. 11 attacks. Pat Tillman came in, sat down and just let it out.

"You know, I haven't done a damn thing," Tillman said.

He quit football, quit the promise of a big new contract from the Cardinals, the only NFL team he ever played for or wanted to play for. At one point, he could have left for more money, he could have gone to the St. Louis Rams. He stayed. It was loyalty to a seemingly hapless franchise. The Cardinals were always losing, but Pat Tillman always figured they were worth the fight. But now he had to go.

He joined the U.S. Army in May 2002, along with his brother.

"He never did think he was giving up anything," Omohundro said. "He felt this was part of his destiny."

He said, "When you've worked with a person, when you know his qualities of dedication, leadership and toughness â€¦ I know in my heart Pat and his brother Kevin thought they were going to go over there and get (Osama) bin Laden. I really think they thought that. Pat just felt there was no barrier too big."

"That's Pat," Graves said. "He would have clipped bin Laden on his belt and brought him back."

Lingering Legacy

They remember Tillman at Arizona State, an undersized linebacker turned holy terror. The man was fearless, long hair flying out the back of his helmet. Omohundro remembered Cardinals games when Tillman would come off hurt and disappear into the tunnel. An assistant trainer would go look for him, and Tillman would wave him off, tell him to stay back. I can reject this pain. I can walk it off. Just don't interrupt.

"It would have taken an elephant gun to drop him," Omohundro said.

He remembered the last time he saw Tilly. The Cardinals were playing in Seattle. Tillman was stationed nearby. He'd soon be on his way overseas as an elite U.S. Army Ranger, one of the sharper edges in all the branches.

"I told him I was very proud of him and boy, did we miss him," Omohundro said. "I remember the last thing he said. Pat told us, 'I'll be back. I'll be back.' I never doubted him for a second."

He was driving to the office that May morning in 2002 when it came on the radio that Tillman was reported dead. At the Cardinals' complex, players and coaches and receptionists, everyone, cried like babies.

"Jake Plummer was his closest friend," Omuhundro said, "When Pat died, a piece of Jake died with him."

It's still incredible when you think of what Pat Tillman walked away from and what he walked into. He didn't think he was special. He didn't do interviews as he marched off. It was never about that. The circumstances of his death were hidden by the military, even by his own soldiers. It was a shameful thing. But it doesn't change what the man did, and never will.

"I get goose bumps thinking about it," Sean Morey said.

There's a statue of Tillman and a memorial plaza at the Cardinals stadium. Tillman's No. 40 is retired, though his jersey remains one of the top sellers for Cardinals fans. There's a foundation in his name and scholarships. His high school in San Jose, Calif., named its football field for him. There's a base near Afghanistan's border with Pakistan - Forward Operating Base Tillman.

Sean Morey is only 5 feet, 11 inches tall. He didn't have a pass reception this season. He has only 11 catches his NFL career. He has played for four different teams. In 2001, after 9/11, while Pat Tillman was thinking about leaving the game, Morey couldn't find a football job, so he worked as a furniture mover.

He found his home on special teams, becoming a guided missile. He was named a Pro Bowl alternate in 2005 for the Pittsburgh Steelers, who the Cardinals meet Sunday in Super Bowl XLIII. Morey made the Pro Bowl this season. He comes down and roars into blockers and finds the ball. Nothing stops him. He's a bear.

"Every time we line up for the national anthem and put our hands on our chest, we look up and across the field there's that No. 40 on a stadium wall," Morey said.

Rod Graves has a pretty good idea.

"Pat would be all over a week like this. He would be at the front, even if he was no longer in the league. He'd be in the locker room giving pregame speeches. He loved the Cardinals. He'd be making sure every one of us was ready to go."

Tuesday morning, Marine Sgt. Jeremy Ross stood near a riser at Raymond James Stadium, shouting at another Cardinal to say hello to the troops. John Omohondro was talking about Tilly again.

"I put a big picture of Pat in the training room. It's right above the taping tables. Every day, these players see him."

Omohundro held up a wrist. He still wears a red hope bracelet for Pat, as he does every day, including Super Bowl Sunday. The words are simple.

Never Forget #40.

Shout it out.

Click to expand...

I'd rep you for that but I have to spread some around. I'm still an AFC guy and that will never change.

It works this way: A man with a microphone, backed by a camera, shouts to a player to talk about something. Can you talk about the role of God in your life? Have anything to say to guys on The Best Damn Sports Show? Sometimes, players answer. Other times, shout-outs bomb.

They worked Tuesday for Marine Sgt. Jeremy Ross. He wore spotless black shoes, blue pants, a starched khaki shirt and a white cap. For two hours, he asked Steelers and Cardinals if they'd like to say hello to U.S. troops in Iraq and Afghanistan. Their messages would be shown over there during the telecast of Super Bowl XLIII.

"The response has been great," said Sgt. Cross, 24, a military journalist working for the Pentagon Channel. "These guys know what our soldiers are doing over there."

The Arizona Cardinals franchise knows better than most.

Sgt. Cross stood out in the media day crush.

John Omohundro saw him.

"Of course, you think about Tilly," he said.

Tilly's here. They're sure of it.

"He's here somewhere," Omohundro said.

He has been with the Arizona Cardinals for 42 years, long before they came to the desert. He was the team's head trainer for 36 years before stepping down last June to become their senior advisor to sports medicine. And in all that time, through all the losing, and suddenly the winning, Omohundro has never met anyone like Patrick Daniel Tillman.

Pat Tillman died on the side of a Afghanistan mountain nearly five years ago, cut down by friendly fire, lost in a war he choose to fight for a country he chose to defend. He gave up football, fame and money. Now the Cardinals, losers even on Tillman's watch, are at their first Super Bowl. He's here, too, they insist.

Leading By Example

His name is Adrian Wilson and he's the longest tenured Cardinal on the roster. He plays strong safety, like Pat Tillman before him. Wilson's rookie season was Tillman's last in the NFL.

"When I came here in 2001, I think it was Pat's last year," Wilson said. "Pat helped me learn the playbook, he helped me learn how to practice and learn a lot of things I didn't know. Pat showed me the way. Pat eventually knew I was going to be the guy who took over his spot. And he didn't have any problems with that. He showed me the right way to do things."

He showed us all.

Wilson had a chance to leave Arizona after the 2004 season. The Cardinals hadn't had a winning season since 1998. But Wilson stayed for less money than he could have earned somewhere else. Sound familiar?

"I think everybody, not only the players, but the fans of Arizona, the people of Arizona, really wonder what it would have been like if Pat was still here," Wilson said.

John Omohundro stood on the field at Raymond James Stadium. It was media day, and he struck up a casual conversation with a reporter. It turned into an interview. He had a story to tell.

It was about Tilly.

"He's everything you would look for in a player," Omohundro said. "He was tough, he was dedicated. He was a guy a lot of people said wasn't able to do some things. Pat would take it as a personal challenge and go do it.

"He was funny. He was off the beaten path. He was a little different kind of guy. When he was in college, he wanted to get away from everything, he ended up climbing a light pole and reading a book up there."

Cardinals general manager Rod Graves joined the team in 1997, the year before Tillman was drafted in the seventh round.

"I remember when we'd come in after pregame warm-ups, and Pat would be so intense," Graves said. "He'd be screaming 'Let's get ready, let's get ready to go, get your mind right.' You were literally afraid of the guy ... Once he made up his mind to do something, he'd follow through. It didn't matter if it was the Cardinals or his country."

Sean Morey is a Cardinals receiver and special-teams star. This is his eighth NFL season, his second in Arizona. Morey attended Brown University. One of his college teammates was from Arizona and was close to Tillman and his friends. Morey joined them for a trip to the 1997 Rose Bowl to see Tillman and Arizona State. They drove from Arizona to Pasadena, Calif., hour after hour of Pat Tillman stories. A different kind of cat. Nothing could stop the guy. He was ferocious. It put the hooks in Morey.

"The guy was a legend, a bear," Morey said Wednesday. "I never got to meet him. But I admire him. Nothing could stop him. He went his own way, and wherever he went, he went with everything he had. I think about him and what he did, going in the Army, making that choice. Even at the Super Bowl, it still kind of towers over you."

Omohundro remembers being in the Cardinals training room not long after after the Sept. 11 attacks. Pat Tillman came in, sat down and just let it out.

"You know, I haven't done a damn thing," Tillman said.

He quit football, quit the promise of a big new contract from the Cardinals, the only NFL team he ever played for or wanted to play for. At one point, he could have left for more money, he could have gone to the St. Louis Rams. He stayed. It was loyalty to a seemingly hapless franchise. The Cardinals were always losing, but Pat Tillman always figured they were worth the fight. But now he had to go.

He joined the U.S. Army in May 2002, along with his brother.

"He never did think he was giving up anything," Omohundro said. "He felt this was part of his destiny."

He said, "When you've worked with a person, when you know his qualities of dedication, leadership and toughness â€¦ I know in my heart Pat and his brother Kevin thought they were going to go over there and get (Osama) bin Laden. I really think they thought that. Pat just felt there was no barrier too big."

"That's Pat," Graves said. "He would have clipped bin Laden on his belt and brought him back."

Lingering Legacy

They remember Tillman at Arizona State, an undersized linebacker turned holy terror. The man was fearless, long hair flying out the back of his helmet. Omohundro remembered Cardinals games when Tillman would come off hurt and disappear into the tunnel. An assistant trainer would go look for him, and Tillman would wave him off, tell him to stay back. I can reject this pain. I can walk it off. Just don't interrupt.

"It would have taken an elephant gun to drop him," Omohundro said.

He remembered the last time he saw Tilly. The Cardinals were playing in Seattle. Tillman was stationed nearby. He'd soon be on his way overseas as an elite U.S. Army Ranger, one of the sharper edges in all the branches.

"I told him I was very proud of him and boy, did we miss him," Omohundro said. "I remember the last thing he said. Pat told us, 'I'll be back. I'll be back.' I never doubted him for a second."

He was driving to the office that May morning in 2002 when it came on the radio that Tillman was reported dead. At the Cardinals' complex, players and coaches and receptionists, everyone, cried like babies.

"Jake Plummer was his closest friend," Omuhundro said, "When Pat died, a piece of Jake died with him."

It's still incredible when you think of what Pat Tillman walked away from and what he walked into. He didn't think he was special. He didn't do interviews as he marched off. It was never about that. The circumstances of his death were hidden by the military, even by his own soldiers. It was a shameful thing. But it doesn't change what the man did, and never will.

"I get goose bumps thinking about it," Sean Morey said.

There's a statue of Tillman and a memorial plaza at the Cardinals stadium. Tillman's No. 40 is retired, though his jersey remains one of the top sellers for Cardinals fans. There's a foundation in his name and scholarships. His high school in San Jose, Calif., named its football field for him. There's a base near Afghanistan's border with Pakistan - Forward Operating Base Tillman.

Sean Morey is only 5 feet, 11 inches tall. He didn't have a pass reception this season. He has only 11 catches his NFL career. He has played for four different teams. In 2001, after 9/11, while Pat Tillman was thinking about leaving the game, Morey couldn't find a football job, so he worked as a furniture mover.

He found his home on special teams, becoming a guided missile. He was named a Pro Bowl alternate in 2005 for the Pittsburgh Steelers, who the Cardinals meet Sunday in Super Bowl XLIII. Morey made the Pro Bowl this season. He comes down and roars into blockers and finds the ball. Nothing stops him. He's a bear.

"Every time we line up for the national anthem and put our hands on our chest, we look up and across the field there's that No. 40 on a stadium wall," Morey said.

Rod Graves has a pretty good idea.

"Pat would be all over a week like this. He would be at the front, even if he was no longer in the league. He'd be in the locker room giving pregame speeches. He loved the Cardinals. He'd be making sure every one of us was ready to go."

Tuesday morning, Marine Sgt. Jeremy Ross stood near a riser at Raymond James Stadium, shouting at another Cardinal to say hello to the troops. John Omohondro was talking about Tilly again.

"I put a big picture of Pat in the training room. It's right above the taping tables. Every day, these players see him."

Omohundro held up a wrist. He still wears a red hope bracelet for Pat, as he does every day, including Super Bowl Sunday. The words are simple.